Lying Next to Me

by Gregg Olsen

For the first time ever, I welcome the traffic clusterfuck I encounter on the way back into the ever-swelling Seattle-Tacoma metroplex. Even on a Sunday. Even on a Sunday before a paid holiday. It’s always beyond comprehension. The Tacoma Narrows Bridge might as well be suspended in amber. Archaeologists will need to chip us out ages from now, after all the twisted metal and carnage piled at the eastern landing has at last been sorted out.

Linda London is one cosmetic procedure away from snapping and taking out someone’s eye,